


Talk Less

by dreamlittleyo



Series: I'm Not Sorry (Kinky Dice Oneshots) [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Breathplay, Coming Untouched, Consent Issues, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Gags, Humiliation, Irresponsible Decisions, Light Bondage, M/M, Power Imbalance, Sensory Deprivation, dom/sub themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 17:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15320349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: Hamilton lets his boss make a mess of him at the office.





	Talk Less

They should not be doing this here.

Alexander honestly doesn't know how Washington talked him into it. Washington is perpetually talking him into things he would refuse if it were anyone else asking. Even before they started fooling around—even when Alexander was just a pitiful, pining disaster with a crush on his boss and no hope the man would ever touch him—he would take on herculean tasks just because _Washington_ said he could do it. 

This current task is not so much herculean as ill-advised. A game they have played dozens of times in Washington's home, but never in the office. Never on company time. Never with such an alarmingly high chance of discovery.

The carpet of Washington's office chafes beneath his bare knees, and if he sits up too straight he knocks his head against the underside of Washington's desk. He is naked. Blindfolded. Shivering. His wrists are pinned uncomfortably tightly at the small of his back, bound by the soft but unbreakable silk of Washington's tie. An uncomfortably large plug fills him, makes it impossible to remain truly motionless, as it nudges persistently against his prostate and strains the aching rim of his ass.

The gag in his mouth is no normal ring or ball or wad of fabric. It's a shaped silicon thing, designed to force its way uncomfortably far into his mouth. It is soft but unyielding, heavy on his tongue, nudging at the back of his throat. Even breathing as carefully as he can, Alexander gags whenever he inhales wrong. Has to steady himself by force of will because Washington is not here to calm him.

He doesn't know how long he's been alone, how long he has been kneeling beneath Washington's desk. His body aches with the strain of holding this position. His legs tremble with the exertion of remaining spread and inviting even though there is no one to see him. His cock is painfully hard, an untended need, because Washington _is not here_.

The door is not locked. _This_ he knows because more than once it has opened only for some passingly familiar voice to call out, "Mr. Washington?" and then retreat when they realize the office is empty. No one can see Alexander, out of sight beneath his employer's monstrosity of a desk, but god forbid someone decide to come through the door. Every creak of the doorknob brings a fresh jolt of adrenaline, and Alexander holds perfectly still—perfectly silent—breathless and taut until the door finally shuts.

Fuck, what he'd give to know how much time has passed. Washington's meeting was supposed to last an hour, but it feels like Alexander has been kneeling a hell of a lot longer than that. He wouldn't put it past Washington to make some last minute addition to his itinerary just to keep Alexander squirming.

Just to keep him helpless.

Alexander is suddenly confident this is exactly what Washington has done, and his cock twitches at the blatant power play.

He tenses at another click of the door, but this time no voice calls out. There are a couple footsteps, then the audible click of the door closing. The even quieter sound of the lock turning a moment later.

Alexander remains perfectly quiet. That has to be Washington, but the approaching footsteps aren't enough to cement his certainty. If it's someone else—someone up to unrelated mischief—his only hope is that they don't come behind the desk.

The footsteps are heavy. They round the desk at a leisurely pace. Whoever it is can't fail to see Alexander now.

The footsteps do not falter. There's no sound of surprise. Another moment and the new arrival stops directly in front of his hiding place. Washington for sure. Alexander draws a shuddering breath of relief. Finally he gets to stop waiting. Maybe the blindfold will come off and he will get a glimpse of the window behind the desk, earn some hint as to how much time has passed.

The massive leather chair creaks as it takes Washington's weight, and Alexander resists the urge to scoot clumsily forward on his knees. There's a chance Washington would find his neediness endearing and give him what he craves; but there is also a chance his efforts would backfire. Without being able to _see_ , there is no telling if Washington's in the mood for perfect obedience. If Alexander defies orders in such a mood, it will be several more hours of torment before he's allowed release—assuming Washington lets him come at all.

His stillness is rewarded soon enough. Chair wheels roll across thin carpet as Washington's chair moves into place before the desk. Powerful legs fit snugly to either side of Alexander. He can't see, but he can feel the nudge of Washington's knees past his shoulders, and he knows he is situated between widely spread thighs.

Washington intends to keep him trapped. Alexander's exhausted body shivers in protest, even as a zing of something hot and eager twists through his blood.

He doesn't need to _see_ Washington's cock to know how it looks right now. Straining beneath dark fabric. Huge. Promise and threat in equal measure. Washington will make use of him one way or another; Alexander only needs to be patient a short while longer.

"You're doing so well, Alexander." The genuine pleasure in Washington's voice warms Alexander's skin. Competent hands reach for the straps holding the invasive gag in Alexander's mouth, and there's a slide of leather and the clink of a buckle.

He chokes a little as Washington removes the gag more roughly than necessary. The fleeting difficulty earns a fond chuckle; Washington would not have positioned him this way if he didn't love to see Alexander suffer.

Alexander licks dry lips and gives his first unimpeded swallow in what feels like hours. The gag thumps quietly onto the desk above him, and then Washington's hands are on him again. Fingers twining in Alexander's hair and forcing him forward. Forcing his face against Washington's crotch, where Washington's erection strains beneath smooth fabric.

Alexander nuzzles closer, letting the trapped line of arousal rub against his cheek.

Washington exhales sharply and grips tighter, rubs even harder against him.

Alexander wonders how the man survived his meeting, how he managed to avoid stiffening in the halls on his way back to this office. Washington is huge and rigid now, after only a few short minutes. Even soft he is impressively endowed. Turned on like this, he is a wonder to behold. There would be no hiding it if someone spotted him in such a state.

There is unnecessary roughness in the way Washington forces him back a moment later. One hand disappears, but the other slips to the back of his skull and twists cruelly in his hair, gathering a vicious fistful and using it to anchor him in place. There's no mistaking what the other hand is doing—not when the snick of a zipper and rustle of fabric reach Alexander's ears—and he licks his lips. Wishes he could _see_.

That glorious length, and it's all his.

He bites his lower lip as the grip in his hair propels him forward so sharply he loses his balance. It's not as though he has very far to fall—there is only Washington in front of him—and of course Washington's relentless fist in his hair, keeping him painfully upright despite his topple. Alexander gets his knees back under him. Rights himself as quickly as he can, agonizingly aware of the enormous plug hampering his movements.

He can smell the salty musk of the cock he is about to taste. Washington's thighs are hot brackets to either side of him, and he is holding Alexander so close. So greedy and intimate.

"What the _fuck_ are you waiting for," Washington snarls, jerking Alexander's head even farther into his lap. "Open that clever mouth and do something useful with it."

Humiliation sings along Alexander's skin. His face—already uncomfortably warm—flushes hotter as he drops his jaw, opening his mouth wide for Washington's use. It takes only a moment for the grip in his hair to force him down, and the head of Washington's cock slides past his lips. Over his tongue. Heavy and slick with precome, an overwhelming presence.

The head presses deeper, only stopping when the nudge at the back of Alexander's throat makes him gag and choke. It's a temporary reprieve—Alexander knows this from experience—but it's a reprieve just the same. He breathes through his nose and savors the weight on his tongue, the sensation of fullness. Braces himself for what comes next.

Washington does not ask if he's ready. Simply exerts inescapable strength to force Alexander farther along his cock. Alexander gags again, but he can do this. He relaxes his throat and ignores the physical discomfort as rigid flesh slips past his defenses, as it fills him, impossibly deep. Choking off his air and trapping him securely between Washington's spread thighs.

The pressure at the back of his head doesn't relent until there is literally no farther Alexander can go. It takes every ounce of self-control not to gag violently on the length of cock filling his mouth and impaling his throat. The fabric of Washington's dress pants is a surreal sensation along Alexander's face, and there is hot skin against his lips, a muscular belly squashing his nose. Washington's fingers release his hair and the broad palm curls at the base of his skull instead, gripping him tightly. Wedging him firmly in place.

Alexander holds his breath as long as he can. Keeps his gag reflex under control as endless seconds stretch out before him. Neither of these things is an easy task. His entire body wants to rebel, his senses swimming and his limbs shaking with effort. The plug in his ass is impossible to ignore, just like the length down his throat.

When he can't keep still any longer, he begins to struggle, jerking beneath Washington's touch even though he doesn't have the leverage to get away.

Washington's other hand slips into place directly above the first, and he keeps Alexander another ten seconds just to prove he can. As though either one of them needs proof of just who is in charge here.

When he finally drags Alexander off his cock, the flow of fresh oxygen is a violent relief. Alexander sucks in desperate lungfuls of air, shaking beneath Washington's hands. He hasn't managed enough before Washington is hauling him forward again, forcing his head back into place. Filling his throat more roughly this time. Alexander breathes a hurt sound, but even that is almost immediately silenced as his air cuts off and he gags around the familiar length.

"I enjoy you like this, my boy," Washington murmurs while Alexander chokes and spasms around his cock. The gentleness in his voice is belied by the ruthless strength forcing Alexander to his will. "That mouth is always getting you in trouble. Perhaps I should do a better job keeping it occupied."

Alexander tries to shake his head, but he is wedged too securely between Washington's thighs, held relentlessly still by the hands cradling his skull.

"We could move your desk in here," Washington continues. "See to it there is _always_ a gag or a cock in your mouth."

It's a fantasy only. Impractical. Impossible to execute. There is literally no way Washington intends to make such an improbable arrangement reality—this is just one of his filthy verbal tangents—but he paints the picture so vividly Alexander tries to moan.

The effort kicks off a renewed round of choking, and Washington eases him back more gently. Gives him space to breathe, but once again it's not enough. He forces Alexander down again too soon. Not yet fucking his throat in earnest. Apparently content for the moment to prolong the torment for both of them. Endlessly patient.

Alexander knows he could learn a thing or two from his employer; he has never possessed patience like this. He would not put up with it _now_ if he had any ability to force Washington's hand. But he is helpless, and caught, and he can do nothing but _take it_ as Washington uses him.

When Washington's cock is fully sheathed and Hamilton's face is crushed once more to his belly, Washington continues, "Such a task would be too much for one man, though. And surely toys aren't enough. We'll have to find volunteers to come feed you cock when I'm too busy to take care of you."

Alexander shudders and his cock twitches at the idea. Fuck, he hates it—he can think of little worse—but he's so turned on at the suggestion he _hurts_.

"There must be a dozen men in this office who would be delighted to shut you up. Keep you busy while I work. I cannot be constantly seeing to your needs. I have a corporation to run."

This time when Washington pulls him back, it's an even shorter reprieve. And when the length of cock wedges back down Alexander's throat it does not stay. Washington keeps him moving. Guiding him in a deep but unhurried rhythm, dragging him back and forth so that he can fuck Alexander's throat without rising from his chair.

Improbably, Washington _keeps talking_ , though he sounds more ragged with every passing second. "You'd be good for morale— _fuck_ —so fucking good for me, I know you'd be good for them too. Or maybe— _ngh_ —you could tend our more prestigious guests. Imagine how agreeable contract negotiations would be, with my lawyers maneuvering above the table and you hard at work beneath."

The pace speeds and Alexander's face burns. Jesus, he can picture the scenario. The weight of a stranger's cock on his tongue. Multiple strangers. Faceless, using him as nothing but an object to be fucked. One after another at Washington's behest.

He's choking on nearly every thrust now, and Washington must be close because his hips are rising from the chair. Riding Alexander's mouth and throat all the harder. Coaxing wet, wounded sounds from him without remorse. The angle is difficult, the pace brutal, as Washington's wide girth rams down his throat over and over again. Ceaseless. Merciless. Sadistic.

Perhaps not even deliberately sadistic so much as careless, as Washington chases his own pleasure and finally—

—Fuck, _finally_ —

—Spills down Alexander's bruised and aching throat.

Alexander has no choice but to swallow. Washington is wedged deep once more, so far down none of the slick release even touches Alexander's tongue. He takes it all without protest—without resistance—and breathes an overstimulated _sob_ when Washington yanks him harshly off the softening length.

His lungs heave, deprived too long of air, and his chest rises and falls frantically. His whole body curls forward, even though there is not enough space under this desk—even though the movement nudges his cheek against Washington's cock.

Alexander's own cock is still agonizingly hard. He whimpers, and catches his lower lip between his teeth to prevent himself from begging to come. There is no certainty Washington will allow him an orgasm; but begging will only worsen his chances.

Gentle fingers card through Alexander's hair and untie the knot at the back of the blindfold. Alexander blinks as the fabric falls away, finds even what little light sneaks under the desk too much. His eyes adjust slowly and he takes in the sight of Washington's flaccid cock, glistening from Alexander's mouth. Washington's chair is flush with the edge of the desk, but Alexander can picture his boss's satisfied expression when the man slouches in his seat.

Another moment and Washington rolls the chair back, but he doesn't stand up. Doesn't invite Alexander out from his confinement.

"Do you want to come, Alexander?"

" _Please_ ," he sobs, and his voice is wrecked gravel. He stares up into Washington's handsome, implacable face. "Oh god, please, yes."

A faint smile twitches at one corner of Washington's mouth. "Then do it."

Alexander's mouth snaps shut and a shudder wracks his exhausted frame. He shakes his head. "I can't. Fuck, please touch me, I need— I need—"

"No." Washington's voice is stern, and the sound of it twists hot beneath Alexander's skin. "You can do it yourself. Just like this."

He shakes his head again. Desperate. Lost.

"You're so close, Alexander," Washington murmurs. "Use that brilliant mind of yours. Imagine how good it will feel when I finally pull that plug out of you tonight. How frantic you'll be for my cock after a day filled with silicon. How eager to do as I say."

Alexander inhales sharply and shifts, spreads his knees wider—a movement that drives the plug harder against his prostate. He moans as Washington's words caress him.

"Yes, you'll wear it the rest of the day," Washington continues. "And every time I look at you, I'll know how good you're being for me. How _desperate_ you are to please me. You want to please me, don't you, my boy?"

" _Yes_ ," Alexander gasps helplessly.

"Then come," Washington purrs.

And fuck— _fuck_ —Alexander does. Choking back a too-loud cry of ecstasy as his orgasm crests inside him. His cock spurts messily, slick along the thin carpet, some of it reaching Washington's shoe. Alexander's chest heaves and he sobs through the sensations, overwrought and not quite believing he just climaxed without a hand on him.

"Good boy." Washington does not seem the slightest bit annoyed about the floor or his soiled shoe. Pays them no mind at all as he reaches for Alexander and drags him bodily out from beneath the desk. Alexander's limbs are shaking too badly to stand, but then he doesn't need to remain upright. As soon as Washington has him out from his impromptu cage, he is tugging Alexander down astride his lap.

Alexander groans an exhausted sound and snuggles against Washington's chest. He doesn't even care that his wrists are still trapped behind him; barely registers the overstimulated ache from the plug in his ass. All he cares about is the heat of Washington's body, welcome warmth after kneeling naked in the chilly office. He nuzzles his face beneath Washington's jaw and hums happily when his employer strokes soothing fingers along his spine.

After a moment, those soothing fingers tug at the knots of the silk tie, releasing Alexander's tingling wrists.

Washington's touch ghosts lower a moment later, finding the base of the plug where it spreads the cheeks of Alexander's ass. There's a maddening tug, gentle but cruel, and Alexander whimpers.

He wraps his arms belatedly around broad shoulders and clings tiredly.

"Are you really going to make me keep it in all day?" he asks, too wrung-out to care if his gravel-roughened voice sounds plaintive. This is one more line he shouldn't cross; a risky proposition when they should be _careful_. When discovery would be disastrous for both of them. But if Washington insists, Alexander will obey as readily as always.

"Yes." Washington stops fidgeting with the base and gives his ass a hard swat—hitting the plug squarely with his palm and jostling it inside Alexander's aching body—earning a gasp of simultaneous pleasure and pain. "And you are going to thank me for it."

Then he twines his fingers in Alexander's hair and tugs his head into place for a kiss.

Alexander opens his mouth for the possessive thrust of Washington's tongue and submits eagerly. Hungry always for anything Washington may want of him.


End file.
